


stubborn faith

by Nyxierose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 22:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18397823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: "Give yourself the same grace you give me."4x02 ish, or, "in which Abby does not know how to be vulnerable".





	stubborn faith

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a more specific idea, but then I started writing and nope, more headcanons drifted in and it turned out very cathartic for me.

She doesn't remember the last time she was this scared.

Abby Griffin has, quite frankly, been through a _lot_ these past six months. She has been tortured, mind-controlled, and forced to accept that the man she loves is a sacrificial idiot who she is convinced _will_ die too young due to some brilliant idea gone awry. She's not sure which of those things is the biggest trauma, but none of them compare to where she is right now, in a secluded room with her would-be lover and trying and failing to avoid a breakdown.

She's ignored this set of issues for almost thirty years. She can do another thirty minutes, right?

It is one thing to kiss him, as she has been doing quite a bit these past three days, with clothing properly on. Still a mess for her, but not as much of one. Marcus brings out a dangerous side of her, vulnerable and human like she has never allowed herself to be, and she suspects he knows. Hell, he did that to a certain extent even back when they hated each other - and that feels like a lifetime ago, not the few months it actually was - and half of her practiced avoidance hinged on the inevitability that one of these days he was going to get stuck picking up her pieces and that day would be the highlight of his life.

Never mind that, y'know, she was married to someone else at the time. She still _knew_ , and she hated it.

This is still worse.

This is forcing herself to stay present and still failing as he pushes her jacket off her shoulders. They will go slow, the implication is, but there is an end goal in mind. If she makes it that far, if she doesn't lose herself, if she doesn't panic and run because she cannot do this, if she doesn't-

He pauses, as the fabric hits the floor, and sometimes she really hates how well he can read her moods. How instinctive that's always been, a glitch in their respective codes that she noticed years ago and tried to run from just like everything else that reminds her she is human.

Because she can't be. She has to be perfect. Always so damn perfect. Not this woman who's desperate for something, anything, to make her feel. Not anything she is anymore.

"Abby?" He's concerned. His voice has done That Thing every damn time he's talked to her since Mount Weather, four months and a lifetime ago, when the air shifted around them. That Thing that says he sees her and he loves her and none of her pain is comfortable to him because it is unfair that such a beautiful creature be so damaged. That Thing that, if she's honest with herself, was the first sign she might feel the same - and oh, she hates it so much.

"Just keep doing what you're thinking," she murmurs. "Don't let me stop you."

That is apparently the wrong reaction, and the look of abject horror on his face is not what she expects.

"There's no point in… this, if you're not you."

"Have you considered the fact that I hate me right now? There's absolutely a point, Marcus. Don't worry so much."

As if to prove herself, and also because she's not sure she can handle whatever he'd say to that, she leans up and kisses him. She's getting used to this part, the taste and feel of him, the gentleness she never expected from this man who once represented everything she hated. But he was different back then - she was different too, but less so - and she is in awe of the person he has become and all too aware of her own role in that transformation.

She didn't save him. She's not self-absorbed enough to think she's _that_ good. She did flip a switch, push him too far, but everything that happened after that was his own doing and she is impressed by how much of a metamorphosis that has turned into. He is kind now, tired and hopeful, a person who believes more in greater things and less in himself. So much better than she deserves, and yet-

"What's wrong?" he asks when they break for air.

"It has been longer than you think since I've been with someone," she offers, figuring a smaller issue might distract him well enough. "Forgive me."

He gives her a look that makes it clear he thinks that is deeply unfair, but it's enough to get his hands on the hem of her shirts, and he pulls the layered mess over her head and then a whole new cluster of issues become apparent.

It has been a while, yes, but that is incidental compared to what she sees as she looks down at her skin. Scars from the birth of her daughter, those have been there long enough that she's made her peace. Marks she can't explain, inflicted when she can't remember, less so. There are pieces of the past few weeks she does not know. It is entirely possible, she thinks as she watches him take her in, that this is not the first time they have been together like this. Just the first time either of them remembers. She knows she was used against him, and-

"You can tell me, whatever it is you're not-"

"Too many things at once. And I hate all of them."

"We can stop, if you-"

"I do not want to stop, Marcus. I want to…"

Words aren't going to work, she figures. Unhooking her bra and throwing that aside… also probably won't, but does make him shut up again, so worth it.

It has been years since she's thought or cared about whether another person might look at her and want her.

No, wrong. That monster woke up months ago, as they drifted closer, as she wondered if what she saw was real. The paralyzing fear that she might not be enough, that she has never been enough, that she will never be-

"May I?"

She's not sure what he's even asking, but is pleasantly surprised when his hands rest on her waist. Warm and solid like the rest of him, hesitant as he slowly moves towards her breasts. He will be a good lover, she decides in that moment, cautious and mindful. She has little to compare to, and she accepts her past for what it was but oh sometimes she wonders, and-

"You're safe with me," he murmurs, and again unhelpful but-

"That's not the problem, but thank you."

He touches her like she is fragile, and she supposes she is though she has never really been. So much effort she has put into being solid and unbreakable, all undone as he traces spirals on her skin, rests his fingers over her heart. It's not fair, it's so not fair, she can't-

He breaks away for a moment, seeking balance, and pulls his own shirt over his head. There's much more to see here, more scars and bruises, and she lets herself touch them. Too much on his arms - she remembers the one, a few months ago, self-inflicted and badly bandaged and she didn't see it until a few days later and it almost broke her. Others since then, the latest not quite healed, a record of his determination.

He'll die too young, she thinks, but he hasn't yet.

"I can't do this again," she murmurs, falling against him. "I can't lose you. And I'm going to, and I can't, and-"

His hands tangle in her hair and he pulls her closer. "I'm here now, Abby. Be here with me."

She is scared. She shouldn't be, as they move together, but she is all the same. Not for herself, not in this moment, but for the day when all of this will be torn away from her.

Someday, they will be nothing. Someday, she will mourn him. Someday, these sweet moments will be faded memories.

But for now, for now she is alive and trying to stay present in her body as they shed the rest of their clothing, and she is so sure she'll lose touch again but not yet, not like this, not with his hands wandering and-

She'll be assertive next time, she decides, and there will _be_ a next time and it will be so much better, but for now she is content to let Marcus lead. He has less baggage than her, somehow - more epic and complicated history of relationships, if half the rumors are true, but less scars from his own heart - and she trusts him to be gentle with her body, she trusts him as he lays her out on the bed and he touches her just so and for a moment she forgets how to breathe, she trusts him so much and-

He kisses her, covers her body with his own, and she understands all the pretty things she ever read about sexual collision. What it _could_ be, with the right person, with someone who wants nothing else in the world.

Not out of boredom. Not out of the fatalistic belief system their generation had by default, the sense of we're-all-fucked that made getting married at nineteen to a nice boy seem like the best idea she'd ever had when she'd done it and then ten years later it wasn't but ah well they were doomed and what point was there in thinking about her own happiness.

Someone who wants _her_ , completely, above everything else. She could drown like this.

It is too easy to slip into a fog, and she will be more conscious next time. For now, this time, she is aware of how tactile he is, his eyes flitting around like he can't decide which part of her is most fascinating, the weight of him and the caution with which he uses it. His hands wandering, then stopping on the slight curve of her hips for a while, then fingers entwining with hers. Kisses all over her face, the scratch of his beard in places she's less used to it and the little sounds she makes and the feeling, unspoken, that he is pleased with himself. Human, so human, safe and warm and-

"This alright?" he asks, slowing his movements while they process.

"Yeah. I… I'll need time, after, if…"

"Do you need anything?"

"Am I allowed to not care?"

And she doesn't, not really. She's too tense to get off, and she can deal with that issue later. She feels _good_ , and that is enough, and-

He collapses, careful even in release not to hurt her, and they break apart.

"I'll do better next time," she murmurs out of habit.

"No. Don't… don't do that thing, Abby."

"Exactly what thing are you talking about?"

"That thing where… shit, this is not the ideal time, but… that thing. That thing where you focus so much on being perfect and ignore everything else."

"I don't know how to _not_ do that." And she doesn't, she can't remember a time in her adult life when she-

"You do. You have. You have put up with me and my damage and never once have I thought…" He takes a deep breath, leans in and kisses the tip of her nose before retreating. "Give yourself the same grace you give me. Please."

She doesn't know how. As they move forward, together, she knows the demons she will face, the expectations she is already fighting. But she knows she's not alone, and for once she's alright with how well he sees her.

"I can try," she breathes, hoping she sounds convincing.

"You're human, Abby. And that's why I love you. You and your stubborn faith and everything else you are."

She won't fight him, not right now. She's exhausted and comfortable, and the deep conversation about why her humanity is a problem seems like one they ought to have with clothing on. In a few days, perhaps. No rush.

"I love you too," she replies. She can start there.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are lovely.


End file.
